


In Which Clint Barton and Phil Coulson are Not Killed by a Troll

by fuckitfireeverything, madness_and_smiles



Series: Strange Tales from Hogwarts Castle [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckitfireeverything/pseuds/fuckitfireeverything, https://archiveofourown.org/users/madness_and_smiles/pseuds/madness_and_smiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson doesn’t like to do his homework in the Hufflepuff common room. He prefers the library, with its enforced quiet and easily accessible volumes. He has a little spot picked out for him; a small desk in the corner next to a large overstuffed armchair where he tends to keep his pile of books. Which is why, when he walks into the library and sees Clint Barton sitting in the over-stuffed armchair that is supposed to hold Phil’s books, he’s more than a little put off. This isn’t where their story begins though. What happened was this:</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Clint Barton and Phil Coulson are Not Killed by a Troll

Phil Coulson doesn’t like to do his homework in the Hufflepuff common room. There’s always too much noise, too many distractions with Luke and Danny laughing in one corner and Sue scolding a bunch of 1st years in the other, while Sam and Steve talk quidditch strategy in front of the fireplace. That’s not even mentioning Professor Pryde barging into the room and offering everyone homemade desserts at any hour of the day. So the common room is definitely a big no for Phil.

            He prefers the library, with its enforced quiet and easily accessible volumes. He has a little spot picked out for him; a small desk in the corner next to a large overstuffed armchair where he tends to keep his pile of books. It’s perfect really, he can sit there for hours and get stuff done. Oh, he doesn’t only do homework. Sometimes he’ll read a good book, or write a letter to his family, or even just sit and think about the world. It’s his _spot_ , the one place on this campus that is unequivocally his.

            Which is why, when he walks into the library and sees Clint Barton sitting in the over-stuffed armchair that is _supposed_ to hold Phil’s books, he’s more than a little put off. However his face doesn’t show it, he just marches quietly over to his seat, takes out his quill and parchment, and begins his charms homework. The two of them sit there in silence for a long time.

            This isn’t where their story begins though. It started two weeks ago, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. What happened was this: Phil and Pepper had been outside walking to Potions when they heard a commotion from out on the grass.

            “I better go deal with this,” muttered Phil, and Pepper just smiled in response.

            “Always acting like a prefect doesn’t mean you’ll automatically get chosen to be one, Phil.”

            “It’s not about that.” It really wasn’t, Phil hadn’t even thought about that until Pepper brought it up. It was just about doing the right thing – plain and simple. “Someone might need help, that’s all.”

            “Whatever you say, just don’t be late; I don’t want to end up cauldron-buddies with Maria Hill again.”

            “I thought you guys were becoming friends or something?”

            “We have our better days, now go and come back quick!” Pepper shooed Phil off and he found himself racing down a small hill to the causes of the yelling. He quickly recognized it as that first year Ravenclaw kid, Peter Piper or something, and there was a big blond Gryffindor standing over him.

            “You’d think a kid from the muggle world would have learned to fight,” the Gryffindor laughed, and then he raised his fist for another blow to Peter’s face.

            “Sorry Flash, it’s all computer games now-a-days,” Peter bit out (which definitely earned some respect from Phil), and Flash made to hit him again. Phil’s wand was already raised, and he was yelling out a stupefy curse when a red blur tackled the bully to the ground, causing Phil’s curse to skim harmlessly above them. For a second Phil thought the other boy did this to save Flash, that they were in on it together, but then he saw him punch Flash hard in the face, and that was definitely blood pouring from the blonde’s nose.

            “You’re a complete waste of a Gryffindor, Thompson, you know that? Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” The boy growled as he hit Flash again. Peter looked wide eyed at the fight on the ground, and then up to Phil on the hill. It was pretty clear he had no idea what to do, so Phil sighed and ran down to haul the attacker off of Flash (honestly, he would have liked to see the boy land a few more punches, but he knew he should just try and put a stop to this now).

            “Alright, break it up,” Phil said while he pulled the other boy off of Flash, who was already crying quietly on the ground, tears and snot mixing with the blood from his nose. Phil got his first good look at the kid he just pulled up and saw that it was Clint Barton, a third year like Phil, and a Gryffindor with a reputation for getting into trouble. Phil raised his eyebrows, impressed that Clint would be willing to tackle someone from his own house like that; normally there was a mentality of protecting one’s own no matter the cost.

            “Hey, what’s going on down there?!” They all looked up to see Professor Drake walking down the hill. Young, friendly, and not too strict about arithmancy homework, Professor Drake was a particular favorite of the students and Phil was sure they’d be able to work this out.

            “Flash was bullying Peter.”

            “Then why is Flash crying on the ground with a bloody nose?”

            “’Cause he deserved it,” barked out Barton, and Phil closed his eyes briefly in frustration. That wasn’t helping.

            “Clint was just trying to get Flash to stop hitting Peter… we both were.” Because if Barton was going to get in trouble for punching Flash in the face, Phil might as well get in trouble for attempting to hex him in the back. It was only fair. Barton however looked over with surprise on his face, as if he wasn’t quite sure what Phil was trying to do. Phil locked eyes with the Professor, and the older man sighed.

            “Sorry you guys, but the rules on fighting are pretty clear. 10 points from Gryffindor, and 5 points from Hufflepuff. Mr. Thompson, you get to have detention with Professor McCoy because I know you are _such_ a favorite of is, and Coulson and Barton, you’ll be getting detention together with Professor Logan this Saturday. Parker, Thompson, let’s get the two of you to the infirmary.”

            “Yes sir.”

            And that was how Phil Coulson met Clint Barton.

            What Phil doesn’t know is that Clint snuck off to the roof of the Gryffindor tower that night, pulling Natasha up with him (they go there because Clint likes high places and because technically a Slytherin isn’t allowed _inside_ the Gryffindor common room, but no one ever said anything about on top of it), and told her about the whole ordeal.

            “I just don’t know what his angle was; I mean why give himself up like that?” Clint asked while biting off the leg of chocolate frog. Natasha shrugged as she played with the card from the package; it was the seeker from the Holyhead Harpies, which Clint knew was her favorite team.

            “Maybe he didn’t have an angle. Maybe he’s just a nice guy.”

            “Nobody is that nice ‘Tasha.”

            “Maybe he just thought you didn’t deserve to be punished all by yourself. I mean like you said, he would have hexed Flash if you hadn’t tackled him. Plus it’s probably because of his honesty that you got off easy on your punishment. Everyone knows that Professor Logan usually doesn’t give a rat’s ass about detention.”

            “True, but now I also have to spend Saturday night with Phil Coulson.” Clint made a face as he licked the chocolate from his fingers.

            “What’s so bad about that? He seems like a good guy.”

            “Yeah, but he looks so boring. He’s always walking around with his books and stuff.”

            “I walk around with books.”

            “You’re different.”

            “Just try to make the best of it, okay?”

            So Phil and Clint found themselves in front of Professor Logan’s hut on Saturday night, each not sure what to say to the other.

            “It was brave of you to tackle Flash like that,” Phil said, and Clint just shrugged.

            “I don’t like assholes.” They waited for another moment in the dark, Phil wondering what was taking the Professor so long and Clint hoping that Logan was in there passed out drunk and he could leave in a couple minutes. Unfortunately for Clint, Professor Logan soon opened the door and greeted them with an evil glint in his smile. A human’s teeth should not be that sharp.

            “Barton. Haven’t seen you since you kidnapped that hippogriff for the afternoon.”

            “What can I say sir? It was love at first flight.”

            “Hmm… Coulson you’re a surprise. Well, what can you do. We better get going.” Logan started moving out, and Phil and Clint fell in line behind him. It only took another few minutes for Phil to realize where they’re headed.

            “Excuse me sir, I thought the Forbidden Forest was off limits to students?”

            “Do I look like a student to you bub?”

            “You _look_ like a wolverine,” Clint muttered, which earned him a harsh laugh from the Professor.

            “Let’s see if you still look pretty when you’re as old as I am kid.”

             The forest engulfed them quickly, drowning out the moon and the stars, the only light coming from the three hastily cast lumos spells. Clint didn’t like it, hated the way the trees seem to close in on him, their branches far too gnarled and cobwebby to climb. Phil wasn’t doing any better; he hates going into a situation like that blind, unsure of his goals or assets. They walked for what seemed like forever, trying not to trip over the hidden branches and rocks on the ground, until finally they reached a small brook.

            “Here,” Professor Logan handed each of them a bucket of feed. “Stand here, and don’t move.”

            “What are we feeding?”

            “Unicorns.”

            “Really?” Clint hated the way his voice cracked slightly in excitement, hated the fact that he felt so excited in the first place. Thirteen year old boys are not supposed to get excited about unicorns.

            “Probably not. This is supposed to be a punishment, not fucking play-time.” Professor Logan laughed again, and began to walk off in another direction.

            “Where are you going?” Phil called out, but Professor Logan didn’t tell him. Just said to wait there, he’d be back eventually, and left the two of them alone. Clint immediately sat down on the ground.

            “Well if he’s not going to be here, then I’m sure as hell not going to keep standing. Here,” Clint patted the ground next to him, “take a seat.” Phil looked warily for a second before sitting down himself, and leaning against the trunk of a tree. “What a waste of a Saturday night.” Clint sighed, and Phil agreed.

            “At least we got Professor Logan. I bet Professor McCoy is making Flash do extra Potions homework.”

            “Yeah well, that brat deserves it. I’ve seen him picking on muggle borns before, and if I see him do it again it’ll be a lot more than his nose that I’ll break.”

            “You could get expelled,” Phil responded, but he never told Clint that he was over-reacting, or that it was a bad idea. Clint just shrugged and grinned, wicked.

            The two of them remained in a companionable silence after that, until Phil felt his eyelids start to droop. He tried to keep them open, but when Clint snored he figured it was safe for him to follow suit.

            Phil was jolted awake when the ground thumped beneath him, and then thumped again.

            “Barton…?”

            “Shh…” Clint was already awake and scanning the area around them. The thump came again, and the two of them stood up, wands at the ready. Then suddenly there was a loud roar, and a troll was running right at them. Phil looked at Clint, realized that he actually wanted to _fight the troll_ , and without even thinking about it he grabbed Clint’s hand and ran.

            “There’s being brave, and then there’s being stupid.” He said in response to the other boy’s protests, “Two third years are not about to take on a full grown troll. We need to find Professor Logan and get out of here.”

            “The old bastard is probably the one who sent the troll after us,” Clint growled, but he didn’t stop running after Phil released his hand. Phil thought they were going to be okay; they were quicker than the troll, and small enough to fit through gaps in the forest that the troll never could. They could make it out of here fine.

            And then Clint fell.

            “Barton!” Phil yelled and rushed to where Clint was holding onto his ankle. He dropped to Clint’s side and raised his hands hesitantly above him.

            “Agh, I think it might be broken…” Clint groaned out as he bit his lip in pain. Phil saw his eyes well up with tears, but Barton didn’t let a single one fall. They could hear the troll approaching, could see the trees being knocked down by its club. They weren’t going to make it. “Just go, run and find Professor Logan.” Because at least one of them should make it out of this alive, Clint thought. There probably wouldn’t be as many people to miss him as there would be for Coulson.

            “No way.” Phil was staring down at him and Clint didn’t know what to do with that.

            “Weren’t you the one just telling me not to be stupid? Run Coulson! Get out of here!” Clint yelled, trying to turn his pain into force, but Phil just shook his head, determined.

            “I’m not going to leave you!” And Clint really had no argument for that, so they braced themselves, and waited exactly 2 seconds before the troll was in front of them. Coulson looked around, saw the heavy vines by the troll’s feat, and acted.

            “Inarcerous! Stupefy!” As soon as Coulson shouted out the words, the vines wrapped themselves around the troll’s legs, and the stunning spell brought it crashing down hard to the ground. Of course it was also at this moment that Professor Logan decided to show up. He yelled out a spell that actually physically flung the troll far, far away, and then turned to Clint and Phil.

            “Much better than a unicorn, right?” His feral grin didn’t lift as he pointed his wand at Clint and said something that got lost in the sudden heaviness of Clint’s eyes. He’s pretty sure he heard Coulson yelling at Professor Logan right before he fell unconscious.

            The next time Clint opened his eyes, he panicked for a brief second when he realized that he wasn’t in the forest anymore and that neither Coulson nor the Professor was near him, but then he recognized that he was in the infirmary and that was definitely Natasha’s scarlet hair draped across the bed in front of him.

            “What…” Clint’s tongue was heavy and his mouth fuzzy, and before he knew it a glass of pumpkin juice was being lifted to his lips, and he drank from it greedily.

            “Professor Logan knocked you out so he could carry you back here. Don’t worry, Madame MacTaggert already fixed your leg. You’re good to go.” Coulson… did he… did he wait here for Clint all night?

            “You idiots are lucky to be alive, trying to take on a troll like that!” Madame MacTaggert said sharply before going over to someone else’s bedside. Natasha looked up and nodded in agreement. Clint took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out. Coulson (surprisingly badass Coulson who beats trolls and didn’t leave Clint alone in the dark) could have been killed because of him.

            “Coulson I’m… I’m sorry… I put you in danger and-” He didn’t dare look the other boy in the eye, just stared into his hands.

            “Are you kidding me?” Phil let out an exasperated sigh and threw his hands into the air, “Professor Logan should _never_ have taken the two of us out there! I have half a mind to lodge a complaint against him, but I’m sure it won’t get taken seriously. None of that was your fault Clint. You… you were incredibly brave,” Phil finished lamely, eyeing the red and gold of Barton’s uniform and thinking about how Barton tackled bullies into the ground, and was prepared to take on a troll all by himself with a broken ankle just to make sure that Phil got out safe. “Anyways, I’ll just leave the two of you alone. I have some transfiguration homework I need to finish.”

            And as Phil walked out of the infirmary and back to his table at the library, he thought that would be the end of his and Barton’s adventures, he really did. Until he walked into the library next week and saw Barton sitting in his armchair. Well.

            Neither of them speaks that first afternoon, and Phil actually begins to wonder if it was just a random coincidence. Clint could tell him that it was definitely not. What he couldn’t tell him, is _why_. He didn’t even have a good answer for Natasha.

            “He just interests me, that’s all. I think maybe he should have been in Gryffindor.”

            So Barton keeps showing up in the library, and sometimes Phil finds himself sitting next to the other boy in charms, and Clint smiles a bit when Coulson takes a seat next to him and Natasha at breakfast one morning.

            Eventually they begin to talk. Nothing much at first, just Barton needing help with arithmancy homework, or Coulson asking what quidditch team Clint supports. Then it turns into a bit more, Clint says that he’s going to try out for the Gryffindor team next year, and Phil confesses that he _really_ wants to be chosen as a prefect in fifth year. The occasional meal turns into a usual lunch table for the three of them, and sometimes, when she’s not eating with Tony Stark, Pepper joins them (she and Natasha get on like a house on fire). Quiet hours of homework in the library become notes and doodles on the edge of Phil’s parchment, and there’s a growing stack of shared dog-eared paperbacks next to the armchair.

            They’re an odd group; Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff. People think Phil’s too studious, Natasha’s too intense, and Clint’s too wild (they’re all wrong, of course). They shouldn’t work, but they do. Phil finds himself missing them with a terrible ache during the long, hot months of summer, where it’s just him and his little sister and miles of thick green grass around them. He doesn’t know if he’s going to write at first, doesn’t know what to say, but then he gets a letter in Clint’s jittery scratches, and another in Natasha’s elegant scrawl and he smiles. The letters from Natasha come a couple times a month, but the letters from Clint come at least twice a week.

            The letters never say anything important, but throughout the years Phil keeps them tied together in a box in his room that’s charmed so only he can open it.

            _Phil,_

_The Prides beat the Magpies 840-660. How does it feel to see your favorite quidditch team lose_ _to mine_ _?_

_-C_

_Phil,_

_The_ _house elves are gone so_ _the food_ _here is terrible. Also sorry this letter has scorch marks. Here’s that book I was telling you about – you should like it._

_-C_

_Phil,_

_Thanks for the cookies from your mom, tell her I said they were delicious._

_-C_

_Phil,_

_My favorite part of summer is how blue the sky is._ _(there was a jumble of scratched out words that Phil couldn’t decipher)_

_-C_

Phil goes to every single one of Clint’s games once he gets on the quidditch team. He laughs when Gryffindor plays Slytherin, where Natasha and Clint are both racing for the snitch and Phil can practically hear them swearing a bluestreak at each other. He feels oddly conflicted during Gryffindor’s match against Hufflepuff. On the one hand he feels an incredible amount of house pride, and would never want them to lose (and he thinks that Steve Rogers is just about the coolest person on campus and the idea of Steve letting a goal in is somewhat appalling), but at the same time he’s never wanted Clint to do anything but succeed.

            Clint hears about the secret passage to Hogsmeade from Thor, and instead of Natasha he takes Phil. For a second after he tells Phil about it he freezes, remembering that Phil wants to be prefect next year and probably doesn’t want to go around breaking rules with a kid who’s basically a delinquent, but then Phil closes his eyes and says “If I don’t see it, it doesn’t matter” and Clint leads him through the passage blind, and the two of them drink butterbeer all afternoon in the snow-covered Three Broomsticks. Clint never tells Natasha about the passage. He doesn’t know why, but he needs this just to stay between him and Phil.

            Sometimes Clint’s snarky and disobedient to the point where Phil wants to scream and smack him upside the head, and Clint once yelled at Phil that he had a stick shoved so far up his ass they’d _never_ be able to find it and was subsequently banned from the library for a week, but they’re friends and Phil knows he wouldn’t give up the strange boy who fell into his lap for anything in the world. Clint feels the same.

            And then, one day, the library is empty. It's impossibly sunny and warm outside, finals have just let out, and even the few students who don't want to be basking outside by the lake or starting pick-up games of quidditch are packing for the train in the morning. No one in the world could possibly have the patience to cope with the oppressive stuffiness of a library on a day like this.

            Except for Phil, of course. He's at his usual desk, reading over a letter he's just written to his parents that details his plans to stay with Pepper's family for a few days before starting his internship with the Ministry for the summer. Enough sun streams through the little window near him that he doesn't feel too bad for not going outside, and he's been piling up the stack of books to take back to the common room with him when he goes.

            He's just about satisfied with the letter when he heads the soft _oof_ that generally accompanies Clint's flopping down into the arm chair, and he glances over.

            Clint's wearing a sad excuse for an attempt at being in uniform – his tie draped loosely around his neck, the sleeves of his undershirt rolled up to his shoulders, his shirt and robes nowhere to be found – and he stretches out on the chair almost obscenely, exposing a narrow strip of tanned skin below his shirt that, for some reason, makes Phil inhale sharply.

            “Hi,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Clint. “Shouldn't you be outside with everyone else?”

            “Just kicked Thor's ass in a one-on-one match, my good deed for the day is done,” Clint explains, his head draped over the arm of the chair so he can look at Phil upside-down. “Besides, he started talking about his brother so I figured I'd disappear while I still had the chance.”

            “Well now I feel so special,” Phil laughs, rolling his eyes and looking back to his unfinished letter. Away from the intensity of Clint’s eyes and the soft fuzz of hair beginning to show on his chin.

“I don’t come sit in a library for just anybody,” Clint pointed out, and that was true. Phil had always known that, so he didn’t know why it made his breath catch slightly. Clint came and sat here with him because they were friends. That’s what friends do. But friends aren’t supposed to get lost in each other’s eyes like this.

            “If the two of you don’t accompany me to the lake right now, I’m afraid I’ll no longer be able to call you my friends.” Natasha pokes her head into the library and grins, beckoning them forward with long pale fingers. 

            “Coming,” Clint laughs and he jumps off the armchair with a single swing of his hips. He looks over his shoulder and sees that Phil hasn’t moved.

            “I have to…” Phi gestures towards his letter and Clint rolls his eyes.

            “I already saw you sign your name. Send your letter and be boring later. Now it’s time for the lake!” So Phil goes, and the rest of the afternoon is a thick heat and water dripping down his legs and the freckles on Clint’s nose. It hurts to say goodbye the next morning.

            While Phil is interning at the ministry, kicking ass and taking names (Clint is sure, because he wouldn’t be doing anything else) Clint spends his summer in the air; either on the back of a broom on the quidditch pitch, or on the roof of the Gryffindor common room staring at the sky that always reminds him of Phil’s eyes (which he almost put in a letter once and then didn’t quite). Hogwarts in the summer is better than the orphanage, but it’s still empty, still lonely. The bright spots are the letters he gets from Natasha and Phil. Natasha’s are elegant accounts of the mountains behind her home, or bundled bouquets of wildflowers from the meadow. It’s Phil’s letters, though, that Clint really waits for. Just like last summer, they’re his anchor, his rock, and he reads them and then stuffs them deep into his trunk.

            _Dear Clint,_

_I’m glad to hear that those flying practice maneuvers I suggested came in handy. No, I don’t know how deep the lake is, but I don’t think you should try to jump in from the roof._

_Yours,_

_Phil_

_Dear Clint,_

_I don’t think a hawk would get these letters here any quicker, so I‘m going to suggest you stick with an owl. Here’s a basket of brownies from my mom, and also a package of chocolate frogs (they were giving them out for free at the ministry today and I know how much you enjoy them)._

_Yours,_

_Phil_

_Dear Clint,_

_I miss butterbeer in the winter, the library at sunset, and watching house quidditch games (though watching the Magpies beat the Pride last week was very enjoyable). Also I miss talking to someone who isn’t completely incompetent, but I suppose that letters are the next best thing._

_Yours,_

_Phil_

            When they next see each other, Phil is a prefect and Clint has grown at least half a foot. He’s filled out over the summer – what was once childish lank has become sturdy muscle, and he walks with a power in his step that goes straight to Phil’s head. Whatever Phil felt on that day by the lake (what he’d felt every time he opened a new letter from Clint that summer) is clawing at his chest and he doesn’t know what to _do_. So he acts exactly the same. The same soft giggles in the library, the same cheers at the quidditch pitch, the same clink of butterbeer mugs (Phil knew that Clint wasn’t going to suggest going anymore, but prefect or not Phil just couldn’t give it up).

            There’s an early snowfall in October and after a round of ghost stories Clint catches the flakes on his tongue and laughs and pushes Phil into the snow and the two roll together in the chill until they’re redfaced and flushed and Clint looks down and all of the want and need he has ever felt towards Phil becomes so real that he immediately runs back into the castle under the pretense of needing hot chocolate, leaving a confused Phil alone on the ground.

            Their conversations were a world away from their original awkward icebreakers. There was naturalness to them, a language in the subtle shift of their eyes and the tensing of their hands. They understood each other. Except for the One Big Thing. Phil couldn’t talk about the way his eyes followed the line of Clint’s back, or how he would lie awake in bed wishing for the soft spike of Clint’s hair through his fingers, and Clint couldn’t talk about how the sight of Phil and Pepper laughing together made his blood boil, or the way he’d get so lost in Phil’s eyes during Potions that his cauldron would explode more often than not.

            “You’re a Gryffindor,” Natasha tells him, when they’re on the roof with his head in her lap and chocolate on his lips, “You’re supposed to be brave.”

            “I am being brave. I am bravely hiding my feelings and putting our friendship first.”

            “You’re being stupid.”

            “You know, Bucky Barnes is literally right under this roof right now. I’m sure we could call him up here and-“

            “That’s completely different. Shut up and eat your frog.”

            So the months pass and Phil sends Clint a Pride of Portree banner for Christmas, and Clint catches the snitch and winks at the crowd. Then the snow melts and Phil looks at Clint asleep in the armchair and thinks about tucking himself into the other boy’s arms, and the flowers bloom and Clint wants to push Phil against the wall in the dark of that passage to Hogsmeade and kiss him senseless. Then the sun begins to burn and they begin to sweat and Clint makes a decision.

            Phil’s in the library, just like last time. Writing a letter when he should be outside having fun, but then some things never change.

            “Hi,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Clint. “Shouldn't you be outside with everyone else?” and the familiarity of the conversation makes Clint want to cry because this time last year he almost, he almost – No more. No more “almosts.”

            “Actually, uh–” Clint falters, sitting back up suddenly. “There's something I wanted to tell you.”

            He looks serious, almost scared, and Phil isn't sure he's ever seen Clint look this vulnerable since that night in the Forbidden Forrest where he'd been willing to sacrifice himself to a troll to make sure Phil got out alive.

            So Phil turns completely to face him, leaning forward a little before asking, “What?”

            Clint bites his lip like he's not sure what to say, and Phil thinks maybe he should say something encouraging, but the second he opens his mouth, Clint's lips are on his, just a chaste, hesitant kiss, not even long enough to let him recover enough to respond.

            And if Clint looked scared before, he looks absolutely terrified as he pulls away. He stands up, hurriedly, straightening out his shirt, and backs away, biting his lips. Phil can’t even move, can’t even breath. There’s a little voice in his head saying _not enough, not enough._

            “God, I'm sorry,” Clint says, eyes looking anywhere but Phil. “That was stupid, I shouldn't have...” He takes a deep breath and says, “Have a good summer, Phil,” before turning to walk toward the door. Except it won’t be a good summer because he’s pretty sure Phil’s not going to send him letters and baked goods.

            Phil scrambles for his wand, buried in the bottom of his book bag, and clutches it desperately the second he finds it, pulling out to charm the door shut just as Clint's about to walk through it.

            “Clint,” he says, biting his own lip.

            When Clint turns around, he looks like he's expecting Phil to hit him. He certainly doesn't look like he's expecting Phil to kiss him, though that's exactly what Phil does. It’s soft at first, neither one sure where to put their hands or how to move their lips. Then it’s hard, desperate, and gasping. Bitten lips and swipes of the tongue and _why had they never done this before? This is great! Whoever invented kissing deserves a medal._

Phil has Clint backed against a bookshelf, and he blushes when he thinks about the fantasies he didn’t dare tell to anybody. Clint grabs on Phil’s tie and pulls, bringing them chest to chest, with their knees knocking into each other and Phil’s hands on his hips.

            “So you-“

            “For a long time.”

            “Me too.”

            They don’t go swimming in the lake that day.

 

            _Phil,_

_My favorite part of summer is how blue the sky is. It reminds me of your eyes._

_L,_

_C_

_Dear Clint,_

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Phil_

Sixth year is Phil cheering for Clint at Hufflepuff v. Gryffindor games, kisses in the library, legs tangled under the table at the Three Broomsticks, and what is nearly a very unfortunate incident on the roof of the Gryffindor common room. Clint can’t ever remember being happier. Neither can Phil, which is why he takes Clint home that summer. And the summer after that. And then there is only one home for the two of them, filled with Clint’s Pride of Portree robes and Phil’s ministry robes and too many chocolate frog boxes on top of dog-eared paperbacks and a bed where Phil runs his hand through Clint’s hair and is very, very glad that Flash Thompson was an asshole and that they weren’t killed by a troll. Clint feels the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Pride of Portree and The Magpies are both real quidditch teams from 'Quidditch Through the Ages'


End file.
